From the archives: Kristi’s Cocktail Quest

I hadn’t thought about this 2004 story in quite a while. As it predates both Kristi Gustafson’s and my blogs, I’m guessing many of you may not have seen it. The illustration is by my colleague Jeff Boyer.

A spirited search

A seeker and her guide leave no bottle untapped in the hunt for a signature drink

By Steve Barnes
October 9, 2004

Kristi Gustafson wanted a cocktail. She said so, right out loud.

When this announcement came, a few months back, it caused much consternation in the office because, well, everyone knew that Kristi didn’t drink. Not never-never, just hardly at all. At wedding receptions, maybe. And she hated it. Always. Kristi’s alcohol aversion was practical rather than principled, as in, “I hate the way booze tastes,” instead of, “I am opposed to the consumption of beverages containing ethanol on moral/religious/philosophical grounds.”

Nonetheless, she was adamant about the it’s-yucky thing. Whenever anyone would say that beer was an acquired taste, Kristi would reply, “Why would I want to acquire a taste for something that’s disgusting?” Which is pretty much inarguable.

Beer was gross. Wedding-toast champagne left a burpish taint at the back of her throat. Strongly flavored booze like bourbon might as well have been sulfuric acid. Juice-heavy cocktails that didn’t taste like alcohol were expensive as well as collegiate or girlie, which is to say unsophisticated; and if it tasted just like juice, she reasoned, why not order just juice and save money?

Ditto on the inarguability quotient.

We all knew her stance on this, had since soon after Kristi was hired at the Times Union five years ago.

Then one day, “I want a cocktail.”

Not even our TV critic saying “‘The Sopranos’ is vastly overrated” would have been as dumbfounding. But there it was: “I want a cocktail,” or, more precisely, “I think I need to find myself a signature drink.”

Because my desk is next to Kristi’s but more because I sometimes adopt an older-brother role with her, I said, “I’ll handle this,” thinking that we would sit at a bar, hoist a few on the company tab, and, voila, a drinker would be born.

My blithe confidence had no connection to reality.

Kristi’s Cocktail Quest ultimately would require sampling two dozen mixed drinks and wines. By the time we found a winner, Kristi would say “Gah” and “Ick” often, expressions of dislike that she on occasion would upgrade to “Gah!!” and “Ick!!” She would adore the look of many drinks but find herself unable to abide their taste. She would quiz bartenders, friends or colleagues on what they would think of her if she ordered a given drink, then nix the beverage if she sensed disapproval. She would whack me on the shoulder while saying, flush-cheeked and too loudly, “I’m not feeling buzzed at all!”

But that’s getting ahead of the story.

Making choicesWhile what a person chooses to eat provides some hints as to his or her personality, alcoholic beverages offer stronger insight. Drinks are consumed with meals, of course. However, they’re also central to many kinds of foodless socializing, and that’s where alcohol takes on some of the attributes of other style or aesthetic choices: clothing, foot- and eyewear, accessories, music.

As with shoes, so with booze: Judgments will be made.

A drink surely is sometimes just a drink, but different kinds of booze carry rich associations that affect who chooses them and why. Consider:

A rugby player joining his teammates for post-match libations orders beer, probably Guinness. He does not not order a berrytini.

A bank executive in a chalk-striped suit sliding into a leather chair at a private club wants scotch. This also could be bourbon, sherry or gin, depending on taste, temperament and heritage. Just don’t bring Jaegermeister.

A power gal out for an evening asks for a drink made with boutique vodka. Zima won’t cut it.

In all three instances, the drinker makes his or her choice based on taste (one hopes). But all also understand the cultural context of their beverage of choice, given their respective companions and location of carousal (i.e., the banker may want beer after golf.)

Grown-up drinksAll of this factored into Kristi’s decision-making once she started trying booze. But the original impetus, to find a signature drink, was rooted in another association: that confidence with alcohol is a hallmark of maturity. Grown-ups, that is to say, know what they like to drink. These days, with her career well-started, a house and car in her own name and a five-night-a-week social schedule in which a cocktail might be a welcome accessory, Kristi was feeling like a grown-up.

And so off we went. Among Kristi’s ground rules:

Drink must suggest sophistication.

Drink must be free of negative associations, such as but not limited to girliness, college parties, people drinking out of plastic or paper cups, people drinking in the woods, spring break.

Drink must be widely available and well known (i.e., every bartender she encounters will know how to make it).

Being served in an elegant glass is a plus.

A pretty — but not too girlie — color is better than a dull one.

This last proved troublesome repeatedly, as when Kristi tried an Atlantic Breeze, a blend of rum and juices. Before tasting it, she said, “It does look girlie, but that’s OK, because I’m a girl, right? It’s so pink. I love it. I’m ready to be Reese Witherspoon. … Let me see how I feel holding it. … No, it’s too girlie.” (Thumbs-up on the taste, though.)

The assessment of how a drink felt to hold wasn’t limited to Kristi’s own hand. Before rejecting a Tequila Sunrise for taste reasons, she said, “I love the color, and I could feel good holding this, but if I had to go to the bathroom, I think a guy wouldn’t want to hold it for me — it looks too girlie. … A big part of this is feeling comfortable when I say what I want when I order. I want a drink that when I order makes me feel sophisticated.'”

Sophisticated ladySeeking sophistication, we tried a Cosmopolitan, Sour-Apple Martini and Kir Royale. (Other “sophisticated” drinks like conventional martinis, either gin or vodka, and the bourbon-based Manhattan were, I knew without her even trying, too potently alcoholic in taste to bother with.)

The Cosmo suffered for its association with “Sex and the City,” while all the appletini’s style points (courtesy of the glass) were zeroed out by the unappealing taste. Champagne bubbles caused the Kir Royale’s cachet to fizzle, and even a regular, unsparkling Kir got rejected for the alcoholic taste of the other ingredient, Chambord liqueur.

By this point, Kristi’s Cocktail Quest had drawn the attention of others at the bar at McGuire’s restaurant in Albany. Everyone had opinions and suggestions. (No wonder, given the mind-boggling number of possibilities: One online drinks database has 7,500 recipes.) Several distinguished guys in classy suits, perhaps remembering their college summers in Europe in the late 1950s, suggested Lillet or Campari and soda. Those two, once the height of sophistication in certain circles, are now, Kristi concluded: 1. out of fashion; 2. not universally recognized by bartenders; 3. “Gah!!” and “Ick!!”

John, McGuire’s unflappable bartender, who’d been making tiny, two-tablespoon-size cocktails for more than an hour, said with a sigh, “Basically, she doesn’t like booze, so it has to be something that covers up the taste of it.” And so it was on to various juicy rum drinks, all but one eventually rejected for their evocations of the girlie or the collegiate. We had a winner in the Malibu Bay Breeze, albeit for less than 12 hours: After colleagues and friends mocked the concoction as the beverage of choice for “Baywatch” bubbleheads, Kristi discarded it.

“This is harder than I thought,” she said.

Wine barThe next week, after I suggested we try wine, we went to The Ginger Man in Albany, justifiably praised for its large, fairly priced list of wines by the glass.

Suspecting, rightly as it turned out, that the tannins in red wine would disqualify cabernet, zinfandel and merlot, I pointed Kristi toward white. White wines, she quickly decided, had other benefits: no stained lips, teeth, tongue or clothes.

“I never thought of myself as a white-wine kind of girl,” she said. “But I could really save my clothes if I drank white. I spill on myself so much that I send my dry cleaner on vacation every year.”

Gewurztraminer, viognier and chardonnay quickly failed the taste test (“Ick,” “No!” and “Ugh,” respectively). Pinot grigio seemed to pucker the tongue and increase mucus production. The reds she did try, a gentle pinot noir and mild syrah, were judged too sharp, even when ice was added, and tawny port caused Kristi to make a face like a cat disgorging a hairball.

That brought us back to the first two whites we’d tried, vouvray and Riesling. Although vouvray earned unprecedented praise — “This is kind of yummy” — Riesling eventually triumphed. She liked its sweetness, thought it would pair well with much of the food she enjoys, found the word Riesling beautiful to say, and, miracle of miracles, “I really like the effect it has on my mouth, the way it feels.”

Riesling wins.

Cocktail Quest concluded, Kristi went about her busy life, confident of what to order should thirst, mood or style make a drink desirable. In two months, she’s had three glasses.

**************

QUAFFING ITBeverages tried during Kristi’s Cocktail Quest, in order of tasting, and the reasons for their rejection:

Tequila Sunrise (tequila, orange juice, grenadine): “I wish it tasted as good as it looks.” Also, “I just don’t like tequila.”

Cosmopolitan (vodka, triple sec, lime juice, cranberry juice): Too much cultural baggage related to it being the drink of choice of the “Sex and the City” girls. Also, “I don’t like the taste of vodka.” Finally, might be perceived as a cliché.

Planters Punch: (light and dark rums, grenadine and orange, cranberry and pineapple juices): “I love the color, (and) I have flip-flops that would match this to a T.” But, “I associate ‘punch’ with frat houses, and I just won’t do that kind of drink.”

Long Island Iced Tea (rum, gin, vodka, tequila, triple sec, sour mix, splash of cola): “I like the taste — I could suck this down in an instant.” However, “There are no good memories that come along with a Long Island Iced Tea.” To wit: New Year’s Eve 1997, multiple LIITs, fried mushrooms. ‘Nuf said.

Kir Royale (champagne and Chambord raspberry liqueur): “It’s pretty. It smells good. I like saying ‘Royale.’ … Oh! The bubbles! I don’t like it. It’s not horrendous, but it’s not delightful.”

Vanilla vodka and club soda: “Gah. Ick. There’s an awful taste in the back of my throat.”

Gewurztraminer: “Ick. Totally ick. It made the hair stand up on my arms.”

Chardonnay: “It’s not bad, but it’s kind of boring. … Nope. Not a fan. It feels like it’s coating my throat with that bad (alcohol) taste.”

Pinot grigio: “I don’t dislike this, but it makes me feel like mucus is getting rejuvenated in the back of my mouth in the way that makes you want to go ‘hggghhhhhh.'”

Pinot noir: “My big problem with red wines is I want them to be cold, but I know that’s not the way they’re supposed to be. … This smells a lot better than it tastes.”

Syrah: “This is one of those wines that somebody would order with dinner and I would pretend to like, but I wouldn’t be enjoying it at all.”

Tawny port: “Gah!! Ick!!”

THE WINNER

Riesling: “This has such a nice sweetness. One of my problems with wine is when it’s so bitter it makes you pucker. This doesn’t. It’s really lovely. I totally could see myself drinking a whole glass of this (or) having it with a meal. … I definitely could order this in a bar or a restaurant. I like the name: ‘Riesling’ sounds beautiful.”